


just death

by nymja



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, spoilers for 8x5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 12:36:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18811048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nymja/pseuds/nymja
Summary: “The Starks,” he manages. “Anything about them?”The man looks at him as though he’s not bright. “Only one Stark in King’s Landing. Our King in the North.” He spits on the ground. “If he hasn’t been burned alive like his grandfather, that is. Fucking idiot, to ride with a dragon.”But Gendry knows, knows there’s more than one Stark down South.--Gendry hears what's happened in King's Landing





	just death

> **Gendry hears what’s happened at King’s Landing. Spoilers for 8x5**

He picks up a rag, cleaning out the grime between his fingers. Gendry looks around Winterfell’s forge for what will be the last time. There’s other smiths still working, melting down what’s left of the dragonglass for things that are more needed-- clasps, beams, things that’ll give structure to the homes and walls that were destroyed during the Long Night. He’d decided to help, for a bit, because Davos forbid him from riding out with the Stark army. He’d wanted to, but there’s not many people who can tell him no. Only Davos and-

Gendry wipes his forehead with the back of his arm. Sweat’s drawn with it, making a chill race down him now that he’s not close to the forge’s fire.

“You’re leaving, then?”

He turns, looking up into the face of Brienne of Tarth. Sitting down, she’s almost two feet taller than him.

“Got to eventually,” he concedes. He looks at the forge again, then turns his attention to the courtyard. “No use in settling here.” Gendry’s weight shifts forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Sounds like I have a castle of my own, now. If you can believe it.”

Brienne straightens. “Lady Sansa has given me leave to escort you to Storm’s end, my lord-”

“Just Gendry.”

“-if you’ll have me.”

He looks at her for a moment, before giving a short nod. “Course.”

There’s something about the knight that seems to relax, as though she were desperately craving some kind of purpose. He thinks she looks sad. “My squire and I shall be ready to ride by sunrise.”

Gendry rubs his hands together. “Sounds good.”

The knight leaves, and he’s left alone with his own thoughts. That is, until he sees a few people gathered round in the courtyard. Then a few more. Then there’s shouting, crying.

He gets up, expression one of confusion as he drops the rag and makes toward the crowd.

Gendry rests a hand on the shoulder of someone who doesn’t look too upset. “What’s going on?”

“King’s Landing,” the man whispers, and it’s then that Gendry realizes he’s not calm but in shock. “They’ve set fire to it.”

His pulse leaps into his throat. The hand he has on the man’s shoulder drops off, numb. “What?”

“It’s gone,” the man says. “It’s all gone. They’ve burned it down-”

Gendry, for all of an idiot he’d been after the feast, knows Arya. He knows Arya would only go one place, even though she didn’t tell him. Far as he knew, she didn’t tell anyone. His stomach sinks like a rock, chest rising and falling faster.

“The Starks,” he manages. “Anything about them?”

The man looks at him as though he’s not bright. “Only one Stark in King’s Landing. Our King in the North.” He spits on the ground. “If he hasn’t been burned alive like his grandfather, that is. Fucking idiot, to ride with a dragon.”

But Gendry knows, knows there’s more than one Stark down South. It’s not a coincidence that both Arya’s and the Hound’s packs were gone one morning. His hands are numb. He wants to be sick.

“How-” he swallows. “How bad was it?”

“Not much of a city left. They say anything that didn’t burn was collapsed.”

He tries to think of Arya, brave and beautiful Arya, being trapped underneath a building. Screaming in a fire. Gendry’s lived in Flea Bottom all his life, he can guess how long it’d take to go up in flames. And there’s nothing a sword could do against it. Nothing throwing knives or a bow could fight. Just…

Just death.

Gendry takes a half step back, stumbles a little over a wooden beam he doesn’t notice on the ground.

“That’s not fair,” he bites out, not sure who he’s talking to. “That’s not-!”

The man he was talking to sends him a glance, wary, before he walks past him.

He laces his fingers behind his head, looking up at the sky.

“Fuck!” He screams, because that’s all he can do. Because he was a fucking twat and it made her leave without him-

It’s snowing in Winterfell. Gendry can’t help but imagine it’s ash.


End file.
